The FNG
by duvalia
Summary: Of all the names in the world, how did Gary Sanderson get stuck with "Roach"? Another series of unrelated oneshots/drabbles. See individual chapters for warnings.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Thanks to my beta reader, A Kiss For A Kill

Gary never considered himself a particularly lucky man, but he couldn't quite say he was _unlucky_ either. He had a knack for avoiding the worst of a situation, but since he seemed to be the only one getting into compromising situations in the first place, Gary decided that Lady Luck had taken a liking to torturing him.

At the moment he was (once again) lying on a goddamn cot feeling liked he'd been run over by a tank, but only after getting his ass handed to him by MacTavish. Despite his current situation, Gary knew he was lucky with the way things turned out. When a grenade had landed next to him, he'd picked it up and threw it back in the direction it had come. But the stupid thing had barely left his hand before it exploded in midair. Had the enemy cooked it any longer, he would've lost his whole arm instead of just enduring the shrapnel that had managed to penetrate his Kevlar. The goggles he'd had taken a liking to wearing had also prevented the loss of an eye.

"Hey new guy, how you holding up?" The distinctive voice cut through his thoughts.

Gary sighed at the nickname. It was a rite of passage of sorts, but that didn't make being called the "fucking new guy" any less irritating. Gary sat up, the shock of pain running up his side almost causing him to black out again. Once the wave passed, he turned towards the doorway only to have blue eyes and a skull balaclava greet him. At least the other man had finally decided to take off his damn sunglasses. Gary only knew the Captain's second in command as Ghost. As far as he was aware, only MacTavish and himself were referred to with the names stated on their birth certificates.

"You okay mate?" Ghost asked again after no response. Gary opened his mouth to respond but ended up coughing due to the dryness in his throat. His superior snorted before tossing the bedridden man a bottle of water. After downing most of the room temperature liquid, Gary once again capped the bottle and placed it on the floor next to him.

"How long have I been out?" Gary managed, wincing at the crack in his voice.

"It's only been a few hours. You don't die easy do you?" Ghost mused.

"Guess not." The FNG picked up his water bottle again, drinking the rest of it to cover for not knowing what else to say. He liked Ghost, and the man was friendly enough, but Gary had never been the talkative type. A smile graced his lips when he remembered MacTavish telling his second in command to shut up on more than one occasion.

"How many times has it been now?" Ghost was looking at the ceiling as if trying to remember something. "Of course that first mission where you missed the jump... but then, no one ever makes the first jump. You hit your head good. Almost cracked right open. Then there was that time you got stung by those scorpions Archer put in your boots…" The masked man laughed after recalling a few more unlucky incidents the newbie to the group had gone through.

"Yeah. That's me, as stubborn as a cockroach." Gary laughed with him. Unlike some of the other Task Force members, Ghost was merely having a good time, rather than bringing up the past events to somehow humiliate the new guy. When Ghost suddenly went silent, Gary looked over to see the man's eyebrows knitted in thought. "What's up?"

"Hmm… I'll remember that," Ghost muttered, seemingly to himself. He turned to leave but not before pulling on his sunglasses.

"What?"

"Rest up. And welcome to the 141, _Roach_."


	2. Smoking and Snacks

**A/N: **Pre MW2. Not much substance in this fic, but I enjoyed writing it. Bad choice of words. Illegal substances, little literary merit.

**WARNING** Drug references, if that bothers you.

* * *

"You can still get a couple more hits," Gary noted holding the joint out towards Archer. The sniper coughed and shook his head still recovering from his last intake.

"I'm good mate," he muttered.

Gary looked around the room checking to see if anyone else wanted to finish it off. After the lack of response, the FNG took one last hit from the joint before placing it on the already messy coffee table. He then searched his numerous pockets producing a baggie from one of them.

"You holding out on us?" Toad asked, his eyes half lidded. There was a peaceful look on his face as he watched the sergeant work. "What're you doing?"

Gary lifted the baggie letting the heavy weapons specialist get a good glimpse. "I save this stuff for later. Has the most resin. Gets you higher than a kite in less than the time it takes to cook a frag."

"Where the hell did you get this stuff?" Scarecrow asked. Gary looked over to the usually taciturn man and let a laugh as his gaze met bloodshot eyes.

"Shit man! Your eyes are all fucking glassy!" A series of giggles, uncharacteristic of battle hardened soldiers, erupted from the room.

"Fuck off." Scarecrow gave him the finger to further emphasize his point. "That shit is fucking crazy."

"Best stuff in the states," Gary stated proudly returning the baggie to its pocket.

"Dude, I'm fucking hungry."

"Yeah, I got the munchies."

"You think we can raid the kitchen?"

The high induced Task Force members let out laughs thinking about MacTavish catching them and yelling at them to get to bed.

"Hey FNG! Try to sneak some food from the kitchen."

Gary looked at his teammates, each of them content to remain where they were currently sprawled. He gave a small chuckle at the scene of the 'best handpicked group of warriors on the planet' reduced to philosophizing idiots. He left the room as Ozone started on how having a catapult would truly benefit their next field mission.

It was pleasant to breathe in the fresh night air after being hotboxed in a room for the past half hour. But the sergeant's lungs seemed to think otherwise and he let out a cough. His blackened, tar filled lungs apparently preferred the deadly chemicals his smoking produced instead. The mess hall was still a ways off so Gary pulled out a cigarette lighting it with his lucky Zippo. He usually smoked cigarettes, but a joint or two or five managed to make its way into chain smoking every so often.

As the mess hall came into view, Gary was surprised to see that the lights were turned on. Nearing the entrance he spit out his cigarette crushing it under his boot. The door was ajar, so he knocked before making his way inside. Ghost and MacTavish both looked up at him from their seat at a table.

'What're you doing up, Sanderson?" Ghost asked after a glance at his watch.

Gary raised an eyebrow at the missing shades and balaclava. "I could ask you two the same thing," he responded taking in the sight before him. On the table was a pack of discarded playing cards and a mostly empty bottle of scotch. There were also four glasses although only two were filled with the amber liquid.

"Chemo took Rook to his quarters awhile ago," Ghost muttered answering the sergeant's unasked question. "Designated driver can't seem to hold his liquor."

"Have a drink," MacTavish offered pouring some scotch into one of the empty glasses.

"Yeah, sure." Gary put his current mission of kitchen raiding on hold and took a seat at the table. He looked at Ghost oddly when the man suddenly began sniffing the air.

"What's that smell?" He paused and crinkled his eyebrows in thought. "Smells familiar." The alcohol in his system seemed to have dulled his memory.

"Oh." The FNG wasn't surprised that his clothes managed to retain some of the smell. He pulled his baggie out once again. "It's probably this too," he continued, tossing it in front of the Brit. The usually masked man picked it up to examine it. He then tossed it back over.

"You want me to roll one?" Gary asked patting down his pockets.

"I've got enough toxins in my system already, mate." The FNG noted that that didn't seem to stop the man from emptying his glass in one go.

"Captain?"

The Scotsman shook his head. "Well that explains why you're here." MacTavish downed his glass and Gary's as well. "It's late. We'd best get to bed." The captain looked over to his drinking partner. "Come on Ghost," he muttered slinging one of the man's arms around his shoulders. "Lock up when you're done." MacTavish put one arm around the lieutenant's waist to support him and grabbed the nearly finished bottle of scotch with his free hand.

After watching his commanders mostly stumble on their way out, Gary went to work on the cabinets. A few minutes of searching produced three bags of chips, some cookies, and a pack of boxed juices. Unable to help himself, Gary opened the bag of cookies and sunk his teeth into the soft, chewy, chocolaty, baked goodness. Being baked himself only made him appreciate the flavors in his mouth all the more. He sat there for a few minutes, the pleasures of taste overriding his senses.

A beep from his watch, signifying the change in hours, brought the sergeant out of his cookie covered paradise and he stood to gather the snacks for the rest of his team.

"What took so long?" Ozone asked ripping open a bag of chips. "Damn, these taste good." Gary handed out the rest of the snacks, took one juice box for himself and sat on the floor next to the coffee table. The others, occupied with the food of the gods, ignored him as he set to work rolling up another joint. Gary slowly blew the smoke out after taking a hit from his newly constructed masterpiece.

"What's that?" Scarecrow garbled, a mouthful of chips.

"Leftover roaches all rolled into one," Gary answered fully content.

"That's not a roach," Archer murmured after finishing the cookie in his mouth. "The roach is the cardboard you put on the mouthpiece."

"The hell? That's the filter," Scarecrow butted in stealing the bag of cookies.

"Cultural differences," the FNG uttered continuing with his smoke. "Want to try?" Scarecrow took the joint and after a puff was sent into a coughing fit. Gary laughed, taking the roach back. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good. How the hell do you smoke that?"

"Just used to it I guess."

"Pass the roach, Gary!"

"Huh?"

"Hey Gary, roach!"

"HEY!"

"Ugh. Not so loud."

"What's up?"

"Gary's callsign. Roach!"

"That sounds funny… _Roach_." Ozone burst into giggles. He stood, the crumbs from his snacking spreading out on the floor around him.

"You guys are crazy." Gary muttered commandeering a bag of chips.

"Well, how do you think 'Taco' and "Whiskey' got theirs?"

"Oh, like yours is any better _Scarecrow_."

"Says the _ozone_ layer."

"The only one of us who seems to have a decent name is 'Doc'".

"Yeah because he's our fucking medic."

"I like Lieutenant Riley's callsign."

"Suck up."

"Why doesn't Captain MacTavish have one? We should call him Mohawk."

"You forget about 'Jayhawk'?"

Gary sipped from his juice box as the chatter from his teammates floated through the air. He was craving a burger and fries, but his current state made even the task of getting up seem too difficult. And it wasn't like he could just whip some up in the kitchen.

"FNG, we're running low on food." A slap. "Fuck. What'd you hit me for?" Ozone cursed nursing a blow to the head.

"It's not FNG. It's Roach now," Toad lectured. He shifted his attention to Gary. "Roach, get some more food. You can be all sneaky and sense snacks with your antennae." The others started laughing again as Toad held his hands to his head wiggling his fingers to signify antennae.

"Yeah, yeah," The newly dubbed 'Roach' muttered, slowly getting to his feet. He left the room but came to the conclusion that his quarters were a hell of a lot closer.

* * *

**A/N:** Remember don't do drugs…


	3. Drugs

**A/N: **While the actual name dubbing takes a backseat in this one, I decided to keep it in the series. I may have also made Roach a little crazy, but war and drugs really mess with your head. And proofreading this, I made him even crazier.

**WARNING **Lots of cursing and drug references, but no sunshine and rainbows this time around.

* * *

"Gary, I think you've had enough," Ghost murmured softly as he watched the sergeant pour himself another glass. The bubbles emanating from the bottom of the liquid suggested that Gary had put something in the glass prior to filling it. Riley could make a good guess as to what it was especially with the vacant look in Gary's eyes. It was made even more obvious since Ghost had removed his usual sunglasses and mask after arriving back on base. Despite the fact that he had spoken, Gary paid him no heed and downed the shot of alcohol he had poured. "Roach-"

"Don't fucking call me that!" Gary yelled angrily, throwing his empty glass against a wall. Neither man flinched as it shattered upon impact. To Ghost it didn't seem like Gary had even _heard _it break.

"Yeah… sorry mate," Ghost whispered keeping his distance.

Gary drank what was left in the bottle before tossing it behind him, so it, too, cracked as it hit the floor. The sergeant ran a hand through his hair then continually up and down his face in frustration. "I shot her. I fucking shot her." He started laughing and Ghost wondered if their last mission had finally cracked the young man. The dirt and dried blood still plastered to the sergeant's face only added to the look of a crazed man.

Gary had been with the 141 for six months. He was a damn good solider, but Ghost had begun to wonder if the young sergeant could really take it. The other task force members had dubbed their newest recruit 'Roach' after discovering Gary's little drug problem. Although it wasn't exactly a _problem_, per se. The sergeant was never fucked up or even remotely high when he was needed or on mission and because of the unconventionality of the 141, Gary wasn't technically breaking any rules. Though Ghost also doubted that anyone other than himself knew to what extent Gary was delving. The others seemed to think that Gary was strictly a smoker.

Riley watched as Gary took out a small container and emptied the pills inside it onto the table. He sorted through them, picked up a pill and seemed to be debating whether to take it or not. "Gary, you should really stop." Ghost wrapped a hand around the younger man's arm as the sergeant brought the pill to his mouth.

"Get the fuck off of me!" Roach yelled tearing his arm away then getting up and slamming the lieutenant against a wall. Ghost mentally cursed as the impact knocked the wind out of him. "A ten fucking year old girl, Riley. Fucking gone because of me," the sergeant continued as he pressed his forearm against his commander's throat. A flick of his wrist and soon Ghost had a knife pressed against his cheek as well. The lieutenant could have easily thrown the younger man off, but he kept eye contact with his subordinate daring the man to continue. "You think I won't do it?" The crazed laugh resurfaced. "You think I won't _fucking _do it?" Roach screamed as he pressed the edge of the blade against Riley's face just enough to break the skin.

"You might as well have let MacTavish die," Ghost stated simply. Gary's eyes went wide and he applied more pressure to the weapon in his hand so the blood was now flowing freely down Riley's face. "It'll be easier to kill me if you put it here," Ghost provoked moving Roach's arm so the blade now threatened to cut a vein in his throat. "Do it… _Roach_."

Then just as quickly as he had snapped, Gary lowered his stance, but then punched Ghost across the face. Riley tasted blood in his mouth, but said nothing. "You don't get it!" Gary shouted stabbing his weapon into the wall next to Riley's head. His eyes were bloodshot as tears ran down his face.

"I can't… I can't…" Gary leaned his forehead against the lieutenant's chest as his anguish overtook him. Riley put an arm around the young man's shoulders, holding his head against him as Gary let out tortured cries. "I have a eight year old sister back home," Gary began as he regained some of his composure. "When I saw that girl shoot MacTavish… I fired. But after pulling that trigger… I keep picturing my sister's face instead," Gary continued his voice shaky.

"You saved John's life," Ghost whispered. "You did good, Gary."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Should you really be up, MacTavish?"

"I'm fine, Ghost." John waved off the concern. "What about you?" he asked as he noticed the cut lip and bandage on his subordinate's face.

"Cut myself shaving," Riley replied nonchalantly. He had put on his balaclava earlier to avoid the unnecessary questions, but the mask had dug irritatingly into his wounds, so he went without it.

"Must've been some razor," MacTavish mumbled. He clearly didn't buy the story, but he trusted Ghost enough not to press the matter. A study of the Scotsman revealed he was still suffering some pain from his wound, but his concern over the newest Task Force member had driven him from his bed. "How's Roach?"

"I was just about to check on him. He was out like a light once I got him to his quarters," the lieutenant muttered. It wasn't exactly lying since the drugs Gary had taken fully kicked in by the time Ghost got him into bed.

"I'll leave it to you then," the CO muttered. Ghost knew that MacTavish knew that he was lying or at least not telling him the whole truth but the captain once again made no attempt to press the matter.

Riley knocked on the door before letting himself inside the room. Gary was seated on the bed as he tied up a bootlace. "How you holding up?" Ghost remained by the doorway as he watched the young man get ready.

"There's a pounding in my head, but otherwise I'm fine." Finished with one boot, he set to work on the other. "How's MacTavish?"

"Still recovering, but he's fine."

"That's good," the sergeant replied distractedly then sighed. "It's either us or them right?"

Riley said nothing letting Gary sort through his thoughts.

"Don't get me wrong. I'll do it again in a heartbeat if I have to." While Gary wasn't rejoicing over the fact that he'd killed the young girl, he accepted the guilt as the consequence of saving the life of a friend.

"I'd do the same for you mate."

The sad smile on Gary's face revealed a man very different from who he had been yesterday. However, his eyebrows soon knitted in concern. "What happened?" He pointed to a spot on his own face mirroring where Ghost had placed the bandage.

"Oh, this? It's nothing. Cut myself shaving," Riley replied casually.

Gary laughed. "You can take down the worst guys in the world, but you can't manage to shave without cutting yourself?"

"Shut up FNG."

"It's Roach now. _Roooooach_." Gary grabbed his gloves off the bed and slipped them on as he headed out.

Ghost mussed the sergeant's hair before following him, the sad smile on his lips going unnoticed. "I got it."

* * *

**A/N: **While Rohypnol, also known as roach, is used as a date rape drug, it does have paradoxical effects such as anxiety, aggressiveness, agitation, and violent behavior. A common side effect is remembering little to nothing of what happened.

Remember don't do drugs… or give drugs to other people…


	4. Voyeur

**A/N: **I'm still iffy about posting this, but it's been sitting in my computer for awhile now. Why the hesitation? Check the warning.

**WARNING! **This particular fic contains _SLASH_.

* * *

Gary looked around the room for MacTavish before placing his report on the captain's desk. Tired, he stifled a yawn with the back of his hand at the same time checking the time on his watch. It seemed odd that the Scotsman wasn't in his room considering how late it was. As he turned to leave Gary ended up stepping on an untied bootlace, which immediately sent him falling towards the hard unforgiving floor. Fortunately, he was able to catch himself on one arm before his face met the surface. _Real smooth soldier. _

Gary let himself fall onto his butt to lace up his boots, but paused when he heard the rattling of the doorknob. "Ca-" His voice left him when two men suddenly stumbled through the doorway apparently unaware of his presence. Ghost kicked the door closed behind himself before he was suddenly slammed back into it. Gary blinked from his spot on the floor but the scene in front of him didn't change.

MacTavish had a hand pressed against the front of Riley's pants and a tongue all but down the usually masked man's throat.

Gary did the first thing that came to mind and ducked beside the giant desk that was currently home to his report. _So what now? Stay here until they finish? _An uncharacteristic moan sounded from the pair tearing Gary away from his thoughts. Only after a few mental curses and the creaking of a bed did the FNG have the courage to peak out from behind his hiding spot. His superiors had moved from their position at the door and were now grinding against each other on the bed.

_Yes, let's not look there, _Gary lectured himself. He glanced at the door debating whether to make a run for it, but there was no way he would reach it without alerting the two currently engaged field commanders. _Fuck._ There was a good chance he'd be spending the whole night here. At the very least, Gary noted, from their position on the bed it was impossible to see him. The sergeant himself had to turn his body all the way around to get a glimpse of them. He let out a sigh leaning his head back against the desk.

"Ah… fuck!" Ghost groaned through labored breathing.

While he may have been tired when he entered the room Gary's mind was now fully alert and conscious of what was happening just a few feet away from him. Despite the fact it was two men and his commanding officers at that, Gary couldn't help but find the sounds they were making incredibly sexy.

_Okay, I did not just think that._ Sanderson closed his eyes attempting to block out everything but doing the ABCs in his head. He was fine with his situation until he realized he ditched the familiar sing-songy tune for the steady rhythm of the men thrusting into each other on the bed to his left.

Once again fully aware of his surroundings, his ears honed in on the only sounds that seemed to be present. Though both Ghost and MacTavish seemed determined to make as little noise as possible, every so often a moan managed to rip its way past either man's throat. To Gary it seemed like it was a little game between them and any sounds made were somehow a show of weakness.

Gary once again closed his eyes concentrating on childhood nursery rhymes. He wasn't sure how many he'd gone through when the distinct sound of a Zippo lighter opening distracted him. Gary didn't dare move now that it seemed like MacTavish and Riley had concluded their… _activity._ A quick glance at his watch told him he'd been sitting there for over an hour.

"You may think we can't see you, but your antenna's showing." Gary froze at the sudden coherent sentence. For the past hour he'd heard nothing but grunts, stifled moans, and the creaking of a bed. Surely, he hadn't been caught?

"Shut up, Simon. Just get some sleep." MacTavish mumbled. He must've been talking around his cigar.

"I can't sleep if I know I'm being watched." the XO countered.

"He'll go away if he thinks you're sleeping."

_Fuck_.

They knew.

"For the record I didn't come in here to spy on you two," the unintended voyeur relented.

"So the little roach finally decides to come out and play," Ghost teased.

"Why didn't you say something earlier?" Gary muttered and ran a hand through his hair. He heard some shuffling around, but jumped when MacTavish was suddenly by his side. The Scotsman was shirtless and his pants looked quickly done up, the belt hanging in its loops unfastened. Gary watched as the captain held up the undone bootlace that had tripped the sergeant earlier.

"Your antenna…" MacTavish moved closer so Gary could feel the other man's breath on his neck. "…was showing _roach._" This close the Scotsman smelled like gun oil, sweat, and… sex. Surprised when a light suddenly turned on, Gary backed up only to hit his head against the wall.

Ghost burst out laughing. "He really is like a cockroach." The man was sitting on the edge of the bed his hand by the light switch. He was naked but the way he positioned himself hid anything from view.

With the room bathed in light, Gary was able to take in the captain's full appearance. There were markings on his body, the beginnings of finger shaped bruises and… were those _hickeys_? Despite having heard everything, Gary only now felt his face grow red in embarrassment

"You should really get to bed," MacTavish murmured backing away.

"My report's on your desk sir." Gary avoided the captain's eyes, the heat radiating off the other man's body distorting his thinking. He stood to leave.

"Your boot?"

"Uh. Yeah. Right," Gary muttered double knotting his boots. Fuck if his laces got him into yet _another _situation.

"See you tomorrow, _Roach._"

"Yes sir." He gave a slight nod before finally making it out the door. MacTavish watched the tight lipped man leave, a small smirk on his face.

"I think our little newbie has finally been promoted from FNG." Ghost chuckled.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As part of an elite military unit, Gary should've been ready for anything, but that one word had caught him completely off guard. So here he was, Sergeant Gary Sanderson, member of Task Force 141, standing in front of his teammates blushing like a little schoolgirl.

"What the hell's wrong with you Sanderson?" Ozone demanded slapping the FNG upside the head.

"Uh, sorry sir," Gary muttered rubbing the spot where he'd been hit. He really shouldn't have been surprised, but when Toad called him Roach… a deeply accented voice had echoed in his head instead.

With the two commanders of the Task Force calling him Roach, it should've been obvious that the other members would follow suit. _But if only they knew_.

* * *

**A/N:** I suppose Roach should be a little more surprised at the situation, but let's just say he's in shock. And sorry for the lack of "Soap" updates. Considering Roach doesn't have a set personality or way of speaking, he's definitely easier for me to write than Soap. But I do have two fics that I've been slowly chipping away at.


	5. Owned

**A/N: **Eh, I don't know where I went with this one. And I'm actually not familiar with the term "roached" but I read it somewhere and this fic is the result.

Takes place before Roach joins the 141. Who's to say 141 members couldn't have been together before ending up on the Task Force?

* * *

Gary licked his lips and tasted the familiar metallic tinge of blood, the jeering and rowdiness around him only a faint noise in his ears. He watched his opponent, trying to gauge the man's next action.

A twitch and the man came at him, aiming his fist for a blow to Gary's face. He dodged the punch and went for the counter, landing a solid hit in the other soldier's gut. The man went down clenching his stomach as the wind left his body and he struggled to catch his breath.

"SANDERSON!" an approaching voice boomed.

Gary inwardly winced, the voice as recognizable as his own mother's. He turned to face his commanding officer, an arm raised in salute. "Yes, sir." The crowd that had gathered to watch the fight had already dispersed.

"Sergeant, what the hell's going on here?" the colonel asked as he glanced at the soldier still flat on his back.

"A simple misunderstanding, sir," Gary replied vaguely. The colonel shifted his gaze to the sergeant, noting the cut on his lip, blood trailing down his face, and the beginnings of a bruise, proof that the situation wasn't just a 'simple misunderstanding'.

"You're on kitchen duty," his CO muttered. "Get to it. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir," Gary responded saluting the man before heading to the mess hall. A few of the other soldiers were already setting up for chow so Gary stood at the sink to clean up. He wiped at the blood trailing down from the cut on his forehead, but observed that the wound had already closed. Pulling off his gloves, Gary turned on the faucet and proceeded to wash up not caring that the water was freezing cold. At the sound of a door opening, he looked over to see Worm walk in.

"Damn. You _roached_ that guy!"

"What?" Gary muttered as he ran some water through his short cropped hair. "Hey, can you hand me a towel?"

"Yeah, sure man," Worm replied tearing a sheet of paper towel from its roll. Gary took the sheet patting down his face, careful not to aggravate his cuts. Worm decided to move back to the more exciting topic of the fight and continued on with his excited chattering. "That guy got _owned_! Everyone's talking about it."

"What the _hell _are you talking about?" Sanderson crumpled up the used paper towel and tossed it in the trash. "Roached?"

"You know… what you did to the guy," his companion responded struggling to define the word.

"What? Kicked his ass?"

"Getting him on his back like that." He paused. "You know, like a cockroach on its back with its limbs all exposed." A knock at the door prompted the two soldiers to turn towards it.

"It's almost chowtime, you two better get your asses in here."

"Yeah, we'll be there." Gary stretched, his limbs protesting at the action. In realization, he turned his attention to his friend. "Hey, wait. Why are _you_ here?"

Worm scratched his head, looking off to the side in slight embarrassment. "The colonel caught us betting on your fight."

At that, Gary raised an eyebrow. "So who'd you bet on?"

"You're my man, Sanderson! Of course I bet on you," Worm stated slapping Gary on the back. The sergeant looked at his friend skeptically when the man turned his head and muttered something else.

The troublesome twosome made their way to the kitchen area each stationing themselves behind a pot of who knows what. Though, Gary honestly had to say he enjoyed whatever the cooks managed to scrape together each day.

"So how much did you win?" Gary asked smugly.

"I didn't."

"What? I kicked that guy's ass!" Even if his opponent had gotten a couple of lucky shots in, Gary knew without a doubt that the man he had 'roached' was definitely the loser of their fight. The odd shape of the man's nose was enough to tell Gary he'd broken it. Not to mention the sickening crack he swear he heard when he dealt that last blow.

"Like I said. I bet on you… to lose."

"Ah, fuck you man!" Gary laughed. "So how much did you lose?"

"Fifty."

"Serves you right," Gary muttered as he scooped whatever it was that was in his pot and put it on a soldier's plate.

"That guy had at least twenty pounds on you," Worm stated in an attempt to defend his decision.

"I could have you both for dinner tonight," a voice interrupted the little quarrel.

"Dude, that sounds fucking gross," Scarecrow muttered pushing the man in front of him to move faster. "Hey Gary, sounds like he wants some… sandwich action tonight."

"Fuck you," Toad growled.

"Oh, a foursome now?" Scarecrow joked, making a kissy face.

"I was referring to our callsigns. I'm higher in the food chain," Toad replied haughtily.

"You sure talk big for someone so short," Scarecrow goaded, leaning both of his arms on the head of the much shorter Toad.

"You sure talk a lot for someone with no brain," the amphibious named soldier muttered trying to push off the other man.

Gary sighed as he watched the two friends go back and forth. Worm nudged him cluing him to the growing line of hungry soldiers behind the jab-trading duo. "Uhm, could you guys do this somewhere else? I was just put on the colonel's shit list." The pair suddenly stopped and faced the sergeant, skeptical looks on their faces. "What?" Gary asked innocently.

"What do you mean '_you __were _just _put on the his shit list_'?"

"Okay, I get it," Gary raised his arms in surrender which caused the ladle he was holding to drop mush onto the floor.

"Nice," Toad muttered sarcastically as he and Scarecrow moved to the side the let the other soldier's get through. "Stealing jelly doughnuts too?"

Gary ignored him and instead spoke to Scarecrow. "What are they calling me now?" Gary sighed at the thought as he filled up another person's bowl. So far, none of them managed to get a decent nickname.

"_Roach_."

"Am I the only person not familiar with this term?"

"You wouldn't have been if _Snowball _over there didn't start proclaiming to the world how he lost a bill because you won the fight."

The sergeant turned his attention to the man beside him. "Dude! You said you only lost fifty."

"Yeah, well…"

"SANDERSON!"

Gary cringed at the voice calling out his name for the second time that day. _And _within an hour of each other. He slowly turned to see his commanding officer holding a baggie, which he knew belonged to him. "Fuck."

His friends snickered at his predicament. "Good luck Roach."

* * *

**A/N: **References to two different movies. I'll feel old if they went over your heads. Maybe I'll give out virtual cookies to those who can figure it out… or write people fics *laughs*


	6. Being Special

**A/N: **Long overdue update for this series or anything, really. I think I'm back now. Anyway, this one inspired by a Soap voice clip from the Favela. If things seem rushed, I figure everyone's familiar with canon events and I rather not write every single incident and line.

**Warning: **Actual dialogue and plot lines tweaked to suit my own agenda. Some OOC, I suppose.

* * *

Wanting someone to live and caring about whether someone died were two vastly different views. The first implied that a person meant something to you, that you wanted them around. The latter was more of a consequence of an unfortunate event that was sad at the time, but easily moved passed.

I watched as MacTavish leaped ahead, a slight bounce in his step as if eager to be rid of me.

Ghost was on another assignment with his own team, while Archer and Toad were on a recon mission. The others were injured in some form or another, so that left the captain with me. And it wasn't that he didn't like me, but I was called Roach for a reason.

There was a loud crunch across the abyss, which signified that MacTavish had successfully gotten to the other side.

_Did someone want me to live?_

I almost closed my eyes before I jumped as if going to my death, but I dug my picks into the side of the cliff. I mostly hit snow instead of solid ice and my weight pulled me down, my picks quickly sliding down until one gave way. For a moment I was suspended in midair before a firm grip on my arm brought me back; MacTavish's hand wrapped around my forearm and he swung me up. I climbed to the top, my heart beating crazily in my chest. I wasn't afraid of death, but that didn't mean I _wanted_ to die.

MacTavish cared about me to the point of not wanting me to die. Like I was a pet goldfish and it wall all fun and games until he forgot to feed me and I died. Sad, but not terribly heartbreaking.

The captain gave me a quick look-over as I unhooked my picks and stuck them on my belt. He took out his M14, while I pulled out my silenced ACR, popping out the heartbeat sensor. MacTavish took the lead and I followed closely behind.

"That blue dot is me. Any unrecognized contacts will show up as white dots."

I kept my mouth shut despite MacTavish's patronizing tone. I wasn't some FNG and he fucking knew it. Nevertheless I respected him and remained silent as he gave me order after order. The storm kicked up and I had some difficulty locating my rendezvous point with the captain after I'd planted the C4.

"Took the scenic route, eh? Let's go." Without even some time to catch my breath I followed MacTavish into the building. He rushed the lone guard, slammed him against the lockers and threw him onto the floor, finally pulling out his knife and stabbing him, dead.

I headed upstairs to look for the ACS module at the captain's order, while he remained downstairs to examine the downed satellite. Just as I secured the module in my pack, MacTavish's voice echoed in my head.

"Roach, go to Plan B."

I hugged the walls to keep out of sight, but a quick glance around the corner revealed MacTavish with his arms raised in surrender and Major Petrov's men focused solely on the captain. The detonator quickly found its way into my hand, but my urge to set off the C4 didn't come as readily.

"Five!"

"Four!"

"Three!"

"Two!"

"One!"

The fueling station went up in flames as I set off the detonator and the guards became easy pickings, the explosion having sent them into disarray.

"Roach! Follow me! Let's go!"

Our supposed stealth mission blew up the moment I detonated the C4, everything that followed becoming a blur as we headed toward the backup LZ using snowmobiles we'd stolen from the enemy. My body acted on instinct, the usual moments of clarity I experienced all blending into one.

"Okay, they got the ACS! We're outta here."

MacTavish and I ditched our vehicles and made our way onto the Pave Low while anyone stupid enough to follow us was dispatched by those keeping watch. Ghost's team was already inside, so I took a seat closer to the ramp while the captain sat by the lieutenant.

"You okay, Gary?"

I turned my head up to see Chemo looking down at me, checking me over for any wounds. "I'm fine," I answered tersely. He kept my gaze for a moment longer before sitting down next to me and pulling out his pack of cigarettes. He offered me one and despite it being a different brand, I took it, lighting it with a match, fully enjoying the first inhale.

MacTavish was seated next to Ghost who was showing him something on a clipboard as he spoke, but with his usual skull mask grinning at me I had no hope of discovering what they were discussing. It made my mind wander back to the hanger and if MacTavish would ask me why I hesitated.

"Why you so concerned about it?"

"I'm not," I snapped. _Fuck. _"I'm not," I said again, this time more in control of my emotions. I glanced at my commanding officers, but the natural workings of the Pave Low masked my outburst.

"It's the same way with all of us. No more special than the other," Chemo rationalized.

I ignored him and instead retreated into my own thoughts. I'd gone over the argument a million times in my head. _Want to be special? _

"How'd it go?" Chemo ask, the words successfully cutting through my internal ramblings.

"Almost died about three times, but other than that, just peachy."

"Ghost just finished talking with General Shepherd. The One-Four-One's got themselves another American."

I welcomed the distraction, listening to Chemo talk. "Recon?"

"Rangers. Joseph Allen. Some hot shot Shepherd's sending undercover."

"A little big for a first assignment, isn't it?"

Chemo nodded in our CO's direction. Ghost had flipped over a page on his clipboard and I was barely able to make out a picture of a man through the backside of the paper. "Those two don't exactly fit in as Russians." Chemo sighed, a cloud of smoke forming in front of him. "I don't know any more than that Allen's infiltrating some group close to Makarov."

"Maybe we'll finally get the bastard."

"Maybe…"

I must've dozed off because when I opened my eyes I felt groggy and Ghost was standing over me his face blank.

"We landed," he replied dully securing his pack over his shoulder. He headed down the ramp not bothering to wait for a response.

"Fuck." I stood and stretched my limbs, already starting to feel sore. The walk to my room was uneventful, my body working on autopilot, soon my clothes in a messy pile on the floor. It felt like I'd barely closed my eyes that I was being nudged awake once again. My room was dark, but the shades weren't drawn which meant it was either really late or really early. I made out Chemo's silhouette, his bust hovering over me.

"Get dressed. The general's sending us out again."

"What happened?"

"Shit's hit the fan. Allen screwed up."

I pulled on a change of boxers before slipping on some pants and a shirt. "Blew his cover?"

"Some way or another, he's dead."

"Fuck."

Fully dressed, I followed Chemo to the conference room where our CO's and the general were already talking.

"Follow the shell," Shepherd stated and pulled up an image on the screen. Two guys popped up, revealing their locations to be in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. "Alejandro Rojas."

"Never heard on him sir," MacTavish answered as he studied the men's faces.

I zoned out knowing we were well on our way to Brazil to capture Rojas and his sidekick or whatever the other guy was. Once the teams were formed I was going to be briefed again, so I let all the information go through one ear and out the other.

Shepherd ended with a definitive, "He's our ticket to Makarov," before he dismissed us, an unspoken 'you're all on the next helo out of here' looming over our heads.

MacTavish took Shepherd's place at the front of the room, seemingly splitting us up into teams in his head. We were given five minutes to get out shit together before I once again found myself geared up and banging my head against the inside of the Pave Low.

It'd be hours until South America was even visible, so MacTavish spent our time going over every single possible scenario we might encounter once we touched down. He then threw all that crap out the window and had us question every possible outcome. It was a tedious task, but it did its job in mostly preparing us for whatever was thrown at us.

Of course, we hadn't gone over the likeliness of our car getting shot up and needing to chase Rojas' assistant through masses of civilians.

"Roach, take the shot! Go for his leg!"

I took a knee and steadied myself before taking the shot, watching as Rojas' assistant went down, my bullet lodging itself in his leg. Ghost approached him and hit him across the head successfully knocking the man out cold. We got in contact with Royce and Meat who'd secured a garage where Ghost could interrogate our captive unhindered.

"Roach, this is going to take some time. Go with Meat and Royce and check the favela for any sign of Rojas. That's where this guy was headed."

Like always I remained silent and followed Royce as he led the way to the favela. Not surprisingly it was full of civilians, at least until Meat fired his weapon and yelled something at them in Portuguese. As if on cue, a series of bullets came toward us and I ducked behind a beat up old car for cover. I hissed as a bullet grazed my arm and I temporarily dropped my hold on my gun.

"Roach! Move up! Let's go!"

_Fucking shit. _I emptied my clip into an RPG team on the roof, but for every man I killed five seemed to pop out of nowhere.

"Meat is down! I repeat, Meat is down!"

Fuck, we were being overrun. I pulled the pin from a grenade on my chest and held it in my hands for a good three seconds before tossing through a window of one of the houses. I wanted to look for Meat, but with my own life in jeopardy I didn't have such a luxury. We advanced through the favela slowly mostly through houses to avoid the bulk of the militia hiding out on rooftops.

I was reloading my weapon when I heard a bullet whizz past me. I thought nothing of it until I turned watching as the bullet hit Royce in the neck. He went down, blood quickly staining his clothes. He held his hands to the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but we shared a glance and I knew he wasn't going to make it.

Before my mind could even register sadness, MacTavish voice once again buzzed in my head, "There's no time for backup. You're going to have to do this on your own. Good luck. Out."

_Oh yeah, thanks for a shit load of nothing._ I didn't blame him, but hearing the words be spoken aloud did nothing to soothe my nerves. I cried out as I felt a pain in my leg and one glance down confirmed I'd taken a shot to the leg. I pulled a cloth from a pouch and tied it around the wound, not exactly having time to properly deal with it.

"Keep an eye open for ambush positions and check your corners!"

I was in fucking no man's land fighting the whole fucking favela on my own and unfortunately getting my ass shot up. There were more people than I had bullets and I was losing blood fast. I didn't relish my situation, not to mention having MacTavish and Ghost yelling in my ear did little to help.

I leaned back against the wall trying to catch my breath, but the sound of a distinct _clink _nearly stopped my heart. Before I could even think to jump out the window, the grenade exploded and I felt the pain and sting from the shrapnel entering the right side of my body. I'd mostly shielded my face with my arm, but getting hit _anywhere _fucking hurt.

"Roach! I've spotted Rojas! He's making a run for it! He's headed your way!"

_Fucking shit, MacTavish. _I gritted my teeth, reloaded my weapon and ignored the pain. I glanced up catching sight of Rojas running across the rooftops. I wanted to chase after him, but my body froze. The sound of a gunshot registered after the pain and I dropped to the dirt, not even having the strength to pretend I could stop the bleeding.

I must've screamed because MacTavish's voice crackled through my radio one last time, "We lost Roach, Rojas is gonna get away." The inflection of the captain's voice once again made everything clear in my head.

No longer was I Gary Sanderson, but rather, "Roach".

And like a roach, my life was insignificant.


	7. Concoctions

**A/N:** One year to the day since I joined, so back to the oneshot series that started it all. :)

**Warning:** Back to the bad humor and random 'roach' naming. Inconsequential sexual content. Dialogue heavy. I also stuck to random Task Force members I've become rather attached to writing.

* * *

"Drink it! Drink it! Drink it!" The words that went along with the steady beat of palms against the table top ceased as it was replaced with hoots and laughter that erupted from three of the four men seated.

Gary slammed his mug atop the table, fighting the urge to throw up. The three others around him watched closely, their fists clutched around packs of cigarettes, waiting to see if the sergeant hurled. Gary smiled, the wave of sickness having passed.

"Dude, that's fucking disgusting," Klepto stated, tossing four cancer sticks in Chemo's direction.

"I told you he'd eat anything."

"What was in that one?" the FNG asked as he picked up his cigarette from the ashtray, the taste of it infinitely better than whatever he had just downed. It was agreed that a cigarette was his only form of a chaser.

Jester read the labels on each of the containers attempting to remember which they'd used in the concoction. "Steak sauce, mayonnaise and melted rocky road ice cream."

Gary leaned back on his chair so he was balancing on the back two legs.

"You're going to fucking fall again," Chemo muttered as he stacked the packs of cigarettes on top of each other. Since everyone seemed to be broke at the moment, they'd resorted to prison currency and were now betting cigarettes.

"I thought I tasted nuts."

Jester snickered. "Yeah because we all know you love nuts in your mouth."

"Just like you like salty eggs in yours."

"You guys have dirty minds," Klepto said as he squeezed a good portion of Dijon mustard into Gary's mug.

Jester and Gary both looked at Klepto, a fake sense of surprise on their faces. "_You're _the one with the dirty mind. Roach has a thing for nuts and I like putting salt on my lightly scrambled eggs."

Chemo raised an eyebrow. "That clarification does nothing to help your argument."

"Fuck off, mom," Gary muttered as he flipped his best friend the bird.

"You're like a fucking roach. And not those big soil ones, but those tiny little brown ones that go searching through trash."

"Where'd you get that info? Internet?"

"Even better. Klepto's mom,"

"Tell her I miss her," Chemo chimed in.

"Fuck you guys."

They all laughed again as they took turns putting a liquefied substance into the sergeant's mug. Gary was still leaning back on his chair, cigarette in mouth, until Chemo gave one of its wooden legs a kick sending the American toppling over.

"I told you, you were going to fall," Chemo said smugly.

Gary ignored him, still cursing as he had dropped his cigarette during his unexpected tumble, the fallen ashes burning little holes into his pants.

"You guys drunk yet?" Doc asked as he walked into the kitchen. He went to the cupboard and pulled out a bag of chips, taking the last open seat next to Jester.

"You're a nosey pepper."

"What?"

"Because you're jalapeño business," Jester laughed.

"That was lame, even for you."

"But you laughed!"

Chemo topped his friend's mug of mustard and vinegar mix with a good helping of whipped cream before pushing his own glass toward the medic. "Drink up."

Doc picked up the glass and brought it to his face, the smell of tequila the only obvious thing about it. "What's in it?"

"Don't know," he replied. "Tastes good though."

The medic eyed the expanse of bottles and containers in front of him and decided to pass on the drink. Roach had finally righted his seat, a small smirk on his face as if planning Chemo's untimely demise.

"So what's happening?"

"Seeing if the 141's latest FNG will throw up anything we make him eat."

The medic smirked. "I think I might have something. I'll be back," he muttered taking his bag of chips with him. The other four thought nothing of their medic's departure and continued with their game of waiting for Sanderson to empty his bowels.

Gary brought the mug to his lips, the strong smell of vinegar burning through the sweet taste of whipped cream as he flicked his tongue over the white topping.

"Don't half-ass this," Klepto instructed, taking a drink from his own glass.

"That's easy for you to say," the sergeant countered. "Sipping from your little martini and all." He winced as Klepto kicked him under the table.

"Just fucking drink it already."

Gary held his breath and swallowed the concoction down, the mustard a very distinct taste on his tongue before it slid down his throat. He tried to spread the taste of the whipped cream in his mouth, but the sweet flavor was gone within moments. "Ah, fuck. That was gross."

Jester erupted in laughter at the look of disgust on the sergeant's face. "So much for your poker face." He almost jumped when Klepto stabbed a knife by his hand. "What?"

Klepto was glaring at him. "Don't you fucking start..."

Jester ignored him and began singing anyway. "Good boys listen to their new daddies, Klep—Shit!" A fraction of a second before Klepto could swing at him with a pocketknife, Jester pushed off the table and let his chair fall backward, using the momentum to roll away and onto his knees in a crouched position.

"You little fucker!"

"That's not what your mom said!"

Chemo watched disinterestedly as Jester ran off, a pissed off Klepto chasing him with the knife he'd stabbed into the table earlier. "And then there were two."

"Where's Doc?"

"He locked himself in his room for some reason," someone else answered, but from the warning of approaching feather light footsteps, they knew it was Ghost.

"You can have Jester's drink if you want, lieutenant. Klepto's probably killed him by now."

"Which means Shepherd's going to be pissed that he needs to find a replacement."

"Klepto's mom is going to be devastated."

"She seemed pretty satisfied last night." They all snickered until three one hundred dollar bills floated onto the table from an unknown source.

Doc stood over them, a mug in one hand, the bag of food under his arm as he pulled another chip from it and stuck it in his mouth. "Sorry Ghost, don't have any of your fancy money."

The lieutenant pulled off his mask, ran a hand through his hair to give it some body, then downed whatever was in the glass in front of him, sucking in his breath as the liquid burned its way down his throat. "Screw it. Whores don't take it anyway."

Gary held a bill to the light checking for the line that would prove the hundred wasn't counterfeit. Wasn't a foolproof method, but he didn't think Doc would screw them over. _Maybe_. "What's with the money?"

"Whoever can drink what I make without throwing up can have a hundred dollars. And you guys can split it if the others hurl."

Gary knitted his eyebrows in confusion. "You _are_ a doctor right?"

"What're you making that's so bad we'd throw-up?" Chemo eyed the mug in the medic's hand. He hadn't had it with him when he left. "What's that you got there?"

"If you're out, say so now."

Personally, Gary didn't care what it was since he'd already had a buffet's worth of gag inducing concoctions. "Where'd you get the money?" he asked instead.

Doc shrugged as he moved to make whatever it was that he was making. "Sold some medical supplies to the locals."

"That should really be _our _money," Ghost said as he poured himself another glass of whiskey.

"That's just too bad then, isn't it?" The medic had his back to them, but the three men watched as he added ice cubes, several fruits and whatever was in his mug to the blender he had pulled from one of the cabinets.

Chemo and Ghost remained silent taking drinks from their glasses, while Gary took puffs from a newly lit cigarette, all men not caring to speak over the sound of the blender working to liquefy whatever the medic was making them.

"Drink up," Doc stated, placing a glass filled with a pink colored liquid in front of each man. Contrary to what the medic was suggesting about the drink, it actually looked appetizing.

"What's wrong with it?" Chemo brought his glass to his face, the sweet smell of strawberries greeting him.

Doc's face was blank as he poured a glass for himself with the remaining mystery food, the pink liquid only filling it halfway. "Nothing's wrong with it. It's actually good for you." He leaned against the wall and smiled, holding his glass to his lips, but not yet drinking from it.

"Doc doesn't really want to kill us, does he?" Chemo whispered.

Ghost shrugged in response, studying his own cup, then glancing over to the sergeant. "Shall we make the FNG drink first?"

"Then we'll have to replace him too when he keels over and dies," Chemo laughed.

"Fuck it." Gary held his glass up in a toast and the others smirked before the three seated men polished off their strawberry scented beverage and slammed their glasses upside down on the table.

Doc was casually drinking from his own glass, the smoothie leaving his body refreshed. Wordlessly, he pulled a paperback book from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. Confused, the three seated at the table moved over so they could all look at the cover. The title read Natural Harvest and in smaller print beneath it:

_A Collection of Semen-Based Recipes._

Chemo didn't even have the chance to curse the medic before he felt the need to regurgitate what he had just swallowed, the word _swallowed _only sealing the deal, and he ran out of the room, a gloved hand to his mouth. Ghost's face was unreadable, but he stood abruptly and followed his subordinate out the door. The sound of something wet and chunky splashing onto the floor left little doubt to what they were doing.

"That actually tastes pretty good," Gary said, not even bothering with a cigarette.

Doc laughed. "You really are a fucking _roach_."

"And you owe me money."

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry, more crack. I've had the idea of Roach eating anything and everything for months now, but only after learning about the book Doc used did I care to write it. The book is written by Paul Photenhauer and I personally haven't tried any of the recipes, but supposedly they taste really good.


End file.
